


Renegade

by Mystery_Penman



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Autistic Character Written By Autistic Author, Colin is Autistic, F/M, Halt has a son, M/M, That's it, This will punch you in the gut and I tried really hard so can you give this a shot please?, he didn't tell Will, so i’d like some feedback, that's the story, there’s a lot of Backstory and some cool concepts I’m actually putting in a novel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystery_Penman/pseuds/Mystery_Penman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-one men have turned up murdered, eighteen of them informants of the Rangers.</p><p>Three of them are retired Rangers.</p><p>All were killed by an assassin of deadly skill in combat and stealth.</p><p>And Crowley recognises his work.</p><p>Twenty years ago a star apprentice in the Corps left just days before he was to take the silver oak leaf and killed a knight in a tavern weeks later. He disappeared after that, and only whispers were heard ever since. But now the apprentice has returned to Araluen and is on a killing spree, and Crowley sends the boy's former master, Halt, along with Will Treaty and Sir Horace Altman, to apprehend the assassin before he kills again.</p><p>Will and Horace don't know the true relationship between Halt and the deadly assassin.</p><p>And if the time comes, can Halt bring his own son to face the hangman's noose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

A flash of steel was the last thing Alun saw before the knife flew out of the darkness lodging itself between his eyes. The last thing he thought, however, was of his years as a Ranger, living in the forests and working in the king’s name. His time as a Ranger had been the pride of his life, and even though he had retired years ago, he almost felt ashamed to die in such a way.

Colin Greene stepped out from the darkness, his mottled cloak wrapped around his lean form as he approached Alun’s body. He placed his foot on the hollow of the dead man’s throat and firmly gripped the hilt of his throwing knife before pulling it free with one hard tug.

Scarlet blood dripped from the blade as he inspected its razor tip. He then crouched to wipe it on Alun’s jerkin. As he did, he heard his friend step out of the thick underbrush and pad lightly to his side, and he carded his gloved fingers through the soft fur in the ruff of her throat.

As she bowed her head to allow Colin’s caresses, Diana watched him worriedly with one large, golden eye. She breathed harshly, seemingly giving her own opinion of the evening’s events.

Colin looked at his friend critically. She was a wolf of immense size, but slender and lithe like a fox, with eyes of liquid gold and fur the colour of moonlight, the palest silver with slashes of dark grey, black and white streaking down her flanks. Across her muzzle was a thin scar that curled up just before it reached her nose, and around her chest and throat was a thick harness made of leather plates and braided strips, held together by iron buckles.

“I’m sorry,” Colin breathed quietly, rising to his feet. He slid his throwing knife back into the double knife scabbard hanging from his belt and glanced down at Alun’s body one last time.

His left hand shook, and he clenched his fingers into a fist so tight the leather of his glove creaked with strain. Tired eyes closed harshly and his throat ached with festering guilt. His daughter’s terrified face flashed in his mind’s eye; her green eyes spilling tears down dusty, reddened cheeks, her torn dress hanging in tatters over scraped knees, a fist clenched in her dark curls.

A gleaming knife at her throat, the broken sound of her pleas.  _Stop it! Daddy make him stop!_

He wiped the tears from his face with the sleeve of his coat and coughed, clearing his throat as he turned away from the corpse. _Lingering will get you killed,_ his mentor told him countless times. _It’s not our place to question why we kill, our job is only to do as we’re asked._

“Come,” he called gently as he slipped into the darkness of the forest. Diana silently padded to his side and bumped her head gently against his hip as the forest enveloped them both.


	2. Chapter 2

Halt was entirely unaware of his son’s guilt as he threw down the report of Alun’s murder, written in Gilan’s shaking hand, onto Crowley’s desk. Gilan had found the old Ranger’s body, still warm, only two weeks previously and the younger man was still distraught by Alun’s death.

The whole Corps was shaken by the events of the last few months.

Halt sat heavily onto the chair in front of Crowley’s desk. “That makes three dead Rangers,” he grunted. “And twenty-one dead men in total all across Araluen.”

“Plus four of our spies in the Gallican court,” Crowley reminded him bitterly. “Next whoever this is will start going after active Rangers, maybe even apprentices.”

“Whoever is doing this could cripple the Corps,” Halt grunted. “Everyone is on edge, even Will is far more jumpy than what’s healthy.”

“And Alyss and Pauline are worried, I’m guessing?” Crowley knew Halt would never admit it, but like himself, he was scared as well. Both of them were prime targets for this assassin, especially now when they were in the same place.

Even in Castle Araluen.

“There have been no threats made? No messages or warnings?” Halt asked, ignoring the question.

Crowley stood from his desk and began pacing the length of his office. “No, and that’s what has the King and I the most worried,” he explained. “Well, actually what has me the most worried is the skill of the assassin.”

The look on Halt’s face told Crowley his friend hadn’t realised what he was thinking about.

“Alun was killed by a Ranger’s throwing knife. If it was a knife, I only know of three men who can make that throw. One of them is in this room, one only has one leg…” Crowley hesitated. His theory had been eating away at the back of his mind since Samdash was killed two months ago by a solid hit to the temple by, now that Crowley thought about it, the end of a striker. “And the third is-“

“ _Don’t_ ,” Halt snapped as his thoughts caught up with Crowley’s. “He’s dead, Crowley. _Dead_.”

“That was never confirmed,” Crowley pointed out. “That was what you chose to believe after the trail ran cold. This assassin has information only a Ranger would have. Some of it I would have had to tell him myself.”

Crowley moved to sit on the wooden chest by one of his bookshelves. “I was grooming him to take over as Commandant one day,” he explained tiredly, head resting in his hands. “He knew everything I knew, including the location of Castle Araluen’s secret tunnels and the names of all the informants we had at the time, all the informants who are now dead. It’s him, Halt, it can’t be anyone else.”

“The boy we knew would _never_ do something like this,” Halt argued, arms folded defensively over his chest.

Crowley scrubbed a hand through his hair. “The boy we knew stopped existing when he put his saxe through the back of Sir Donald Brighton’s skull. But I’m certain this assassin is him, or whatever twisted man he’s become.”

Halt, Crowley knew, had been gutted when news of Sir Donald’s murder had reached him. He’d begged Crowley to let him bring, the boy back, but Crowley had denied him. Crowley knew back then as well as he knew now that if the boy ever returned to Castle Araluen, it would be to face the hangman’s noose.

The only time Crowley has seen Halt come even close to that level of desperation was when Will had been a slave in Skandia.

“The king wants him brought to trial,” Crowley said. “The only other retired Ranger in Araluen is Berrigan, and last I heard he was in Hogarth fief. I’m sending Will and Horace to watch Berrigan and wait for this assassin to strike and apprehend him. I want you to go with them, if anyone can get Colin to come peacefully it’s you…but I need to know I can trust you, Halt. I need to know that your judgement won’t be affected by what I’m asking you to do.”

Halt was quiet. For a long time Crowley was worried that his friend would decline the mission, and then Halt spoke.

“I’ll go,” Halt promised. “You can trust me, Crowley. I swear.”

* * *

Colin Greene had killed twenty-six people in six months.

Nineteen of them had been Ranger and diplomatic informers all across Araluen. Four of them had been Araluen spies in the Gallican courts. And three had been retired Rangers: Samdash, Berwick and Alun.

Two of these Rangers Colin had known personally in a past life.

Diana’s head butted against his shoulder and she whined, a low keening noise in her throat, until he lifted his hand to scratch that sweet spot at the hinge of her jaw. She rumbled in appreciation as his grim features cracked into a rare smile at the familiar noise. She was his oldest friend, and he found himself relying more on her as this ordeal dragged on.

* * *

Colin woke at the break of dawn with a sharp gasp and a pounding heart, blood soaked images still filled his mind’s eye and Diana’s wet nose pressed against his neck, her hot breath washing over his throat and down his shirt as his chest heaved in an attempt to calm his racing heart.

Diana huffed and butted her head against his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Colin croaked. Diana growled warningly.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Colin repeated firmly as he stood, forcing his legs to stop shaking as he went about cleaning up the camp and saddling his horse. He knew Berrigan would stay at the tavern in the town nearby to perform for the local people. “We’ll wait for him on the road. Diana,” Diana’s ears perked up, prepared for an order. “Find him. Follow him. If he deviates from the main path take…take out his horse.”

Diana rumbled an affirmation and Colin smiled at her. “Good girl. Stay safe. Now, go.”

Diana barely made a sound as she gracefully ran from the clearing, disappearing into the forest, and Colin turned to his horse. “You could learn a thing or two from her,” he told it. The chestnut just looked at him with dull brown eyes, blinking slowly as it’s ear twitched, and Colin sighed. “I’m talking to a horse,” he muttered. “Now I’ve _really_ lost it.”

He swung up into the saddle and touched his heels to the horse’s side, spurring it into a trot as Colin began preparing himself to kill a man he had once considered to be family.

* * *

Will arrived at Araluen later that week to be briefed for a mission that Halt told him was top priority and needed to be discussed in person with Horace present to fully understand.

Ebony waited impatiently as her master dismounted and rubbed down Tug, and barked excitedly upon spotting Halt’s familiar form approach from the castle gates.

Will expected a smart comment about Ebony spoiling Halt’s silent approach from his former teacher, but Halt’s face was grim, more so than Will had ever seen it.

Halt was scared, and Will felt cold fear settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Horace is waiting for us in Crowley’s office,” the older Ranger said curtly. “...you didn’t run into any trouble on your way here, did you?”

Will shook his head and followed his teacher through the courtyard and towards Crowley’s office. “I brought Ebony with me for an extra pair of ears, and I made sure to stay in towns as often as possible like you told me. Is it really as serious as we think it is, Halt?”

Halt hesitated as he reached for the doorknob, and he turned to his apprentice fully and said grimly, “I think it’s far worse.”

Horace stood as the two Rangers entered Crowley’s office and embraced Will briefly before the young Ranger addressed his commandant. “Hullo Crowley,” Will greeted.

“Will.” Crowley nodded. “Glad to see you arrived safely.”

Ebony barked a salutation of her own, and Crowley grinned down at her, scratching her behind the ear before straightening, then gestured for the two younger men to sit.

“As you both know, over the last six months several Ranger and Diplomat informants have been killed, nineteen men and women who have been doing this job as long as I’ve been Commandant. They were killed in a variety of ways, but with skill,” Crowley explained. “In Gallica, four of our spies in the courts there were murdered. One we believed to be a simple animal attack, but over the last few months the King and I have determined it’s just too much of a coincidence. And recently, three retired Rangers, highly trained men who deserved a long, easy retirement, were slaughtered. One of them right here in Castle Araluen’s halls.”

“Are you saying this is all one man?” Horace inquired, coming to the same conclusion as Will. “A Genovesan?”

“No one was killed by a crossbow bolt, or by poison,” Will explained to the Knight. “They were killed by slashed throats or arrows. Except for Alun, and this spy… You never specified how Alun was killed in your report, Crowley.”

Crowley looked at Halt. “He’s a sharp one, isn’t he?” He smiled at his old friend, and Will noticed his teacher shift slightly where he pressed himself against the wall of Crowley’s office. “You’re right, Will. The killer isn’t a Genovesan, and it _is_ one man. Alun was killed by an arrow which is unlikely due to the fact that we didn’t find anything in the killing wound, an arrow would have snapped off or the head would have become stuck in the wound. Halt and I believe Alun was killed by a Ranger’s throwing knife, from a fair distance and by a master knife thrower.”

“Are you saying a Ranger did this?” Will’s eyes widened in shock. The mere thought of a Ranger killing another Ranger caused a cold stone of fear to weigh down in his chest, the unsettling feeling of his heart dropping to his stomach making his head swim with nausea.

“We’re saying that someone _trained_ as a Ranger did this.” It was Halt who answered, his voice tight and cold. “Outside this room, there are only five people alive who know about what we’re about to tell you. One of them is the King; the rest include Baron Arald, Pauline, and two of the last retired Rangers in Araluen.”

“Twenty years ago the assassin was an apprentice Ranger in Redmont,” Crowley said. “His name was Colin Flynn; bright, talented, one of the best apprentices the Corps has seen since Halt and I rebuilt it. Gilan came close, of course, and so did you, Will. And it was because of his extreme promise that he spent the last year and a half of his apprenticeship here at Castle Araluen with me.”

"He was a special case, like Gilan," Crowley continued, glancing up at Halt for a moment. Will looked at his mentor as well, but Halt's face was hidden by his cowl. However, Will could see the stiffness in every line of Halt’s body. "Highly skilled with weapons from a young age, and with a mind for tactics and politics, I decided to take him under my wing and began grooming him to take over as Commandant one day. I told him everything I knew at the time, including the names of informants scattered across Araluen. Those informants are now dead, along with several spies in Gallica and three retired Rangers."

“What happened?” Horace asked. “You said he was one of the best Rangers ever trained, why isn’t he a Ranger now?”

Crowley hesitated just long enough for Halt to speak. “A few weeks before he was going to take the silver oakleaf, he ran away. I went after him, but the trail had gone cold by the time I realised he was missing. Two weeks later we received a report from one of the seaside fiefs.” Halt paused for a moment, almost hesitating. “Sir Donald Brighton, a former melee champion and one of the greatest knights to serve under King Oswald during his reign, was found dead outside a tavern, his skull split open by a large, sharp knife. Recounts from the tavern owner and the people who were there that night revealed a young man dressed like a Ranger who matched Colin’s description got in a fight with Sir Brighton, who took it outside. Colin put his Saxe through the back of Sir Brighton’s skull _after_ Brighton knocked him to the ground and walked away. He was expelled from the Corps and a bounty was placed on his head, and that was the last time he was seen in Araluen until now.”

“And you want us,” Horace gestured to himself, Will, and Halt. “To apprehend him, right? To stop him before he kills again?”

“Exactly,” Crowley agreed, “we believe the next target is Berrigan, you’ll be meeting him in-”

Halt placed his hand on Crowley’s arm, and a wordless agreement was exchanged between the two old friends.

“We haven’t been...entirely truthful with either of you,” the Commandant sighed. “Halt, did you want me to…”

Halt shook his head, sighed, and almost forced himself to look Will in the eye. He looked... _sad,_ almost. There was also a look of failure in his eyes, failure in himself.

Halt took a deep breath and sighed. "Colin, this _assassin_ , wasn't just my first apprentice," the words sounded torn. "He's my son. His mother and I were intimate in the years I trained with my Ranger mentor before I came to Araluen, and to protect him from his grandfather, and my brother, I brought him with me when I came here.”

"I raised him best I could while also doing my job, but eventually I started training him to be a Ranger. The first thing I noticed was his talents with the saxe and throwing knife," Halt continued after a moment. "After consulting with Rodney and Crowley, we all came to the conclusion he was a Natural. And while his skill with a bow was as good as any Ranger, he was far more deadly at close quarters."

"I'm telling you this because if he's still as good as he was as a boy, he's a far superior bladesman than any Ranger in the Corps, and if he gets the chance he will kill you. Especially you and I, Will." Will nodded, guessing correctly that the assassin was hunting Rangers.

Horace frowned. “Why did he run away?” The warrior inquired. “You said he enjoyed being a Ranger and he was very skilled at the job…”

“I never said he enjoyed it,” Halt interjected quietly. “I said he was good at it. Very good, he dedicated himself to the training and pushed himself further than I suspect was healthy...but he never enjoyed it…”

Crowley stopped the grizzled Ranger before Halt could say anything else. “We don’t know why he left. We don’t know where he’s been the last twenty years. And we certainly don’t know why he’s suddenly started killing informants, Rangers and spies,” the Ranger commandant frowned. “Which is why we want those answers. After apprehending him you’ll take him to Castle Hogarth and collect a jail cart to transport him to Castle Araluen for trial. Halt will give you the finer details of the mission on the road and the King and I hope to expect you back here in under a month. Anymore questions?”

Will and Horace exchanged a look, then turned back to the two Senior Rangers and shook their heads.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thirty-Three years ago, Araluen_

 

Berrigan scooped up the brown haired toddler and set the giggling boy on his shoulders as he went about cleaning up the camp with his new companions.

Ever since he joined the little group well over a week ago, he’d been absolutely taken with the Hibernian’s son, a speck of sunshine named Colin. The lad didn’t talk, but he was happy and innocent, and he was Berrigan’s new best friend so far as the Ranger was concerned.

The Hibernian, Halt, Berrigan remembered, was a tad too over protective of Colin, and Berrigan saw him flinch when Berrigan lurched to make Colin giggle, but never put the boy in danger from falling.

Leander smiled off where he was pulling down the tents with Crowley, and Berrigan grinned at him.

“Think this little one will make a Ranger one day?” He called to the other senior Ranger.

“I dunno,” Leander answered, and the tightening grip of little fingers in Berrigan’s hair told him Leander had the boy’s full attention. “Might be more suited to farm life.”

Colin wriggled on his shoulders and did that flapping movement with his hands that he was fond of. An obvious sign of yes so far as Berrigan was concerned.

Most wouldn’t bother with a boy like Colin, Berrigan knew that. He never believed the old stories of Changeling children, either. From what he’d seen, Colin was bright and engaged, and if he didn’t talk he communicated in other ways. There was no reason he couldn’t be a Ranger.

Halt made a face, and Berrigan gave the man a pointed look, and the Hibernian sighed. “Right, Cub,” Halt answered, though with less enthusiasm that Berrigan wanted him to muster. Colin stilled on Berrigan’s shoulders for a moment before he began that frantic rocking movement and shoved his fingers into his mouth, chewing on them harshly until Berrigan set him down and pulled his fingers out of his mouth.

”Colin,” Halt said, crouching beside Berrigan when he saw the boy’s movements. “Colin, you’re going to make yourself sick. Stop. Now.”

Green eyes widened, then screwed shut and he tried to pull away from them, making that screeching noise in the back of his throat as he tried to tug his hands out of Berrigan’s grip.

”Let him go,” Halt told him. “He doesn’t want us touching him.”

Berrigan let Colin’s hands go and the boy crawled away from them.

* * *

 

_Present day, Hogarth Outskirts_

 

Colin had always prefered hiding in trees to hiding on the ground. Trees were far safer, from both animals big enough to cause harm and from anyone stupid enough to stumble across him. His master had always cautioned him that his tendency for high places was going to get him killed, but it had been twenty years, and it still hadn’t.

The tree he was perched in was an ancient oak, with gnarled limbs that curled up to the sky like reaching arms. The leaves were dark green, but the branches grey and rough from age. He’d wedged himself into a fork between two branches some time ago, his cloak pulled tight around his shoulders, the frayed end fluttering in the wind. One leg stretched in front of him along the branch, the other dangled over the edge. Twenty years ago, he’d have been yelled at for assuming such an unready stance when preparing to ambush someone.

Twenty years ago, he cared about the training he’d dedicated a majority of his life to.

Across his thigh was one of a set of twin blades. Long, nearly the length of a short sword, the blade was wide at the tip and steadily narrowed along the curve of the steel to half the width at the tip, which was needle sharp. The handle was made of polished hickory and capped with a bronze pommel, stamped with the image of a swooping bird. A raven.

Strapped to his back, safely in its sheathe was the weapon’s identical twin, the hilt protruding over his left shoulder. While not the only weapons he carried, these knives were his most trustworthy, and the Arridan steel had saved his life on more than one occasion. Even against a slighted axeman who’d accused Colin of courting his wife.

A sound roused him from his thoughts as he looked down the road.

His heart clenched when he recognised the horse, and then one legged man sitting in the saddle.

He took in a breath to calm his nerves and closed his eyes, listening for the sound of horse’s hooves passing below.

The arrow slammed into the wood of the tree just above his shoulder, through the fabric of his cloak just as he slipped from the branch and the gathered cloth around his throat pulled taut as a noose as he dangled from the tree.

His knife fell from his grip as he scrabbled to wrench the fabric, boots scraping against the tree for purchase as finally the old fabric gave way and he fell, hitting the tangle of roots at the base of the trunk.

The tip of a sword, too broad to be a knife, dug into the back of his left shoulder and the swordsman spoke. “Don’t move.”

The next few seconds had been entirely on instinct, something drilled into his mind and body from twenty years of fighting and running.

He snatched up his fallen knife as his leg lashed out against the swordsman’s knee, then leapt to his feet and grabbed the sword by the crossguard with his left hand. The tip of his knife sliced through the swordsman’s jerkin far enough to draw blood. He was a bit younger than Colin, with piercing blue eyes and a hard thick jaw, and his jerkin was emblazoned with a green oakleaf.

The corners of Colin’s lips twitched up in a wicked smirk. “Now what would the Princess’s husband be doing in Hogarth Fief?” He asked, not really expecting an answer. His eyes slid to just beside Horace Altman’s head, to the green clad figure standing a ways off with his bow nocked with a broad headed arrow.

“And if your Green Sneak friend shoots me he’ll be explaining to the princess why her husband has a dagger where his heart should be!” He called. “Put that arrow away and unstring your bow, when you’re done you can toss it behind you. That’s it, now sit on the ground.”

The Ranger did as he was told and sat, and Colin glanced down the road.

Berrigan, still seated on his horse, was just a few metres away. Far enough that he had ample time to escape if Colin let Horace go to reach for a weapon he could throw.

“Hullo Berrigan.”

* * *

Three days ago, they had caught up with Berrigan on the outskirts of Hogarth fief. The former Ranger had been aware of the killings, but had been taken aback when Halt voiced Crowley’s suspicions.

“I never believed he killed old Donald,” Berrigan groused, tossing the dregs of his coffee into the fire. “That boy was never one to pick fights, not unless he was provoked. He was a good lad, never believed anyone who told me he was touched in the head.”

Horace frowned. “He was simple?” He asked.

” _No_ ,” Halt snapped. “He was...different, but not simple...”

”What most would call Changeling,” Berrigan said. He saw the confusion on both younger men’s faces and sighed. “Children who are born seemingly like everyone else, then they reach about two and start displaying different tendencies, most don’t talk for a while or ever, they’re obsessed with something, history or alchemy or a particular profession or object...Colin’s was literature, right?”

”Poetry,” Halt said. “The Baron gave him full access to the library, used to find him there copying poetry from the books.”

”Most need constant care, never grow up, or might take a little longer...Norris was a little like that, too. Never knew when we were joking around with him,” Berrigan explained. “But Colin grew up, he was _fine_ , and then...”

Will shifted uneasily in his seat, and finally voiced a question that had been gnawing on him since they had left Castle Araluen.

“Why would Colin leave without even saying goodbye? Or any explanation? He didn’t even tell you, Halt…” It almost exploded out of his mouth and was left hanging in the tense air of their small camp.

Berrigan looked at Halt, frowning. “I remember you and Colin had a massive fight that Gathering, you were screaming at each other for over an hour. He was gone the next day."

"What was the fight about, Halt?" Horace asked quietly.

Halt sighed, scratching his fingers through his beard as he regarded his empty mug. "Colin was graduating that gathering, and Crowley almost decided to assign him to Norgate."

"Norgate?" Berrigan exclaimed. "With those Scotti always raiding? You send someone with fifteen years of experience or more to Norgate, not a fifteen year old boy still wet behind the ears!"

"I didn't want it to happen!" Halt snapped in return. "Crowley didn’t either, and he changed the assignment to Wessley, closer to Redmont, and we were stationing a retired Ranger at Wessley Keep to help him through the first few years.”

"So what happened?” Horace asked.

Halt sighed. "Colin was always a bit too curious, and impatient. He snuck into Crowley's pavilion and read some paperwork on his appointment to Norgate, then confronted me about it. He was angry about being sent so far away, I was angry because he wouldn't listen...we were always good at bringing out the worst in each other. He stormed off into the woods and I went back to our camp. When I woke up the next morning he'd packed up his gear and was gone, and that was the last time I saw him. By the time I discovered he’d left, he was already too far gone to go after.”

Will frowned and prodded at the fire with a stick to break up the coals. “And you went after him right, Halt?”

“Not at first,” Halt admitted. “This wasn’t the first time he’d left after a fight but he’d always come back...and then a few weeks later we found out about Sir Donald’s murder and I almost didn’t want him to come back.”

There was an edge to Halt’s voice as he recounted that time, a bitterness Will associated with anger, but he also sounded... _sad_. Will couldn’t imagine the pain of knowing his child was condemned to death.

“We still searched, but the trail went cold just south of the channel crossing to Gallica, where a Skandian raid had killed or captured almost everyone in a small fishing village. After that we had nothing to go on, and we stopped searching,” Halt shook his head. “I spent five years following every lead that came up, and then I took you on as an apprentice, Will.”

“I’d like to stop talking about the past for a moment and talk about how we’re going to capture someone who’s been hiding for twenty years,” Berrigan said, quickly changing the subject. “I suspect you plan to use me as bait?”

* * *

“Hullo Berrigan.”

The greeting was sickeningly cheerful, sending chills down Will’s spine as the fugitive twisted the knife in Horace’s shoulder, making him groan in pain.

Colin looked more like Halt than Will expected, his voice lacked the distinct Hibernian burr Halt’s still held, and while his clothes were far rougher his appearance was neater, with more of a light scruff on his face than a full beard like Halt’s. Will watched as blood began to drip from the edge of Horace’s surcoat to the dirt and hoped Halt was nearly in position.

Colin had always prefered to ambush from trees than from the ground, and the oak tree with its branches stretching over the road had been a perfect place for the assassin to attack from. The plan had been for Will to shoot at him from the ground as Berrigan approached, but he had misjudged the shot and hit his cloak instead.

Halt had said he would wait as a last resort should anything go wrong.

“What happened, Colin?” Berrigan asked, holding the ex-ranger’s attention away from digging his knife into Horace’s body. “Why are you killing Rangers?”

Colin grimaced, twisting the knife further. “Because I have to,” he answered. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Let me try,” Berrigan sounded pleading. “Colin, tell me what happened between you and Sir Donald. If you tell us why you’re doing all of this, we’ll let you go. Let you disappear.”

“We both know that’s a lie, Berrigan,” Colin suddenly let Horace go, but twisted the sword from his grip and planted the tip in the ground, leaning on it like a cane. “I’ve killed twenty-six men and women in service to the King, twenty-seven if you count the _esteemed_ Sir Donald Brighton. Though how esteemed could he be if he lost to a fifteen year old boy half his height?”

Horace fell backwards onto the ground and lay still, groaning as he clutched his shoulder. Blood oozed from between his fingers and Will twitched, forcing himself not to run to his friend’s side to help.

Will had barely looked away a second but when his eyes returned to Colin Halt was behind him, slamming the pommel of his saxe into the back of Colin’s head. Dark eyes rolled up into his skull and the ex-ranger crumpled, unconscious.

“Strip his weapons, then tie him up,” Halt snapped at Will. “Berrigan, take care of Horace. I’m going to go look for his campsite and get his horse and search for any evidence as to why he’s been doing this.”


	4. Chapter 4

_ Thirty years ago, Redmont Fief _

There was a bird singing in the distance, somewhere in the west.

The bird was a canary, a sweet song bird. Colin’s vision fazed out as he wondered what the bird was singing about, what colour its feathers were. His finger tapped lightly against his knee to the bird’s song.

He was jolted out of his daydream by a pebble bouncing off his forehead, and Gilan snickered as he nearly fell off the railing of the cabin’s verandah.

“I’d love to know where you go when you get that look on your face, Colin,” the teenager teased. “Now come on, Halt said we’ve got to get this housework done before he gets back from the Baron’s office and I don’t wanna disappoint him.”

“No, Dad said  _ you _ have to do all the housework,” Colin replied, folding his arms over his chest. “Since  _ you’re _ the apprentice, Gilan. I’m just here to tattle if you don’t do as Dad says!”

Gilan pulled a face, then darted forward and tapped Colin on the shoulder, grinning. “You’re it!” He called, darting away as Colin launched after him almost instantly at the exclamation.

Gilan was older than Colin by almost ten years, longer in the leg and stronger, and slowed his pace to give the younger boy a chance to catch up.

They ran around the open land around the cabin for what felt like hours, Gilan always keeping just out of reach as long as he could. They were chasing each other around a large tree near the forest’s edge when the toe of Gilan’s boot caught on an upturned root and he stumbled forward and fell.

Colin pounced onto his back, digging little fingers into the sensitive space between his ribs and Gilan thrashed and tried to push Colin off, laughing.

It was an accident, he shoved Colin a little too hard and the smaller boy stumbled and fell back, smacking his head on an exposed stone, slicing open his face under his eye and scraping down his cheek, causing blood to pool around his skull and soaking the soft earth.

Gilan froze, panic settling in his gut as Colin didn’t move, didn’t even cry. Just laid there, still and silent.

It was his training as a swordsman almost all his life that allowed him to not let panic take over, and see that Colin’s chest was still rising and falling as he breathed. He was unconscious, not dead.

“Gilan?” It was Halt. Gilan looked up to see him standing by the cabin beside Abelard. “Gilan what…”

Halt stopped mid sentence, staring for a moment before running over and dropping to his knees at Colin’s side.

“We were running around and then he jumped on my back and I got too rough and…” Gilan swallowed thickly. “I’m so sorry, Halt!”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Halt snapped, louder and angrier than Gilan had ever heard him. “He’s not even half your size, Gilan! You need to be careful with him!”

Halt lifted Colin gently, cradling him in his arms like he would shatter at the slightest wrong movement.

Gilan followed him back to the cabin meekly, eyes burning with tears of frustration and fear.

Halt set Colin on the couch and quickly gathered linen strips and hot water to clean the cuts on his face and wash away the blood and dirt that had caked on his skin.

Dark jade eyes blinked open as Halt prodded the swelling around the large cut under Colin’s right eye, and he pushed back the boy’s soft brown curls, soothing Colin as he began to cry.

“ An bhfuil tú ceart go leor, coileán?” Halt asked.

“Sea, daidí,” Colin replied, sniffling. “Ní raibh mé chiallaíonn go! Bhí muid ag imirt ach …”

“Gilan got a little too rough,” Halt assured him, returning to the common tongue. “It was just an accident, for both of you.”

Colin nodded and Halt helped him sit up, then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Colin tightly in a rare show of open affection.

“You scared the devil out of me,Colin,” he murmured against Colin’s shoulder.

“I’m alright now, dad,” Colin promised, muffled against the rough cloth of Halt’s cloak. He wriggled free and flashed Gilan a big, wide grin before wincing as it stretched the sensitive skin around his cut. “Ow.”

Gilan snorted. “You’re fine,” he said. “I’m still sorry, Colin. Not for messing up your face though.”

Colin looked distraught. “It won’t scar will it, dad?” He exclaimed, his eye wide in horror.

_

There was a scar under his right eye, an old faded line along his cheekbone. It wasn’t the only scar, the most prominent being a jagged line that split down his face from his hairline and through his left eye and down to the corner of his jaw. A deep cut that bit into the right side of his top lip that gouged its way up his face. Dark green eyes stared out at them, the right eye sharp and piercing, but there was something  _ wrong _ about his left eye as it stared out at them. 

He wasn’t a tall man, but he was taller than Will, and narrow, less stocky like his father and more lean. His hair was black and flecked grey with the beginnings of age, mostly pushed away from his face and tied back in a short braid, though some straggling strands fell across his forehead.

His clothes were well worn and layered, tight laced black boots and a mottled shirt of a similar pattern to the tattered Ranger cloak he wore over his shoulders, with dark grey trousers and a long sleeved wine coloured jacket over a heavy leather jerkin. Around his neck was a faded red scarf with a gold floral pattern, and on his left arm a heavy gauntlet and glove. 

“Finished staring?” Colin muttered, a tired grin tugging on his features. The scar on his lip caused his mouth to twist awkwardly into a grimace.

Will ignored the ex-Ranger in favour of wrapping the confiscated weapons in the coat the other man had been wearing.

“You’re...Will Treaty, aren’t you?” Colin asked, his tone chillingly cheerful. “Araluen Hero, saved the kingdom more times than anyone, except Dad of course. I heard you slayed five wild boar with a single shot from your longbow. But considering first year apprentices use _recurve_ _bows_ , I think that particular tale is the product of gossip. What I heard _really_ happened was you had to have your horse save you, and then you tried to stop it using your saxe.”

Will and Horace, who was building a fire with Berrigan, froze. “How do you know that?” he demanded, determined not to let his nervousness seep into his voice.

Colin’s grin was vicious, more like a wolf showing its teeth than a smile. “I know a lot of things. I like knowing about the people I’ve been sent to kill. Makes it easy to corner and trap them.”

“I’m sure you had plenty of time to research Norris and Samdash,” Berrigan said coldly. “Those men would have given their  _ lives _ to protect you at one point, Colin.”

“And I’m sure they would have been the first to stand up at my trial and tell the King stories about how I thought puppies were adorable when I was five,” Colin retorted. “But unfortunately I put an arrow through Norris’s heart and hit Samdash hard enough with a candle stick that his head caved in.”

“Is that a confession?” Horace asked, beginning to stand.

“It might as well be,” Will’s head snapped around to see Halt approach, the reins of a chestnut ladened with equipment wrapped around the pommel of Abelard’s saddle.

Colin flinched, twisting away from facing Halt as the older man swung down from the saddle.

“Did you find anything in his camp?” Will asked.

Halt nodded, handing over a series of folded papers wrapped in twine. “Maps and a list of every Ranger in Araluen, plus the fief they’ve been assigned to and personal information about them. It’s enough evidence, even without his confession,” he said. “And watch out for a large dog. There were tracks all around the camp, it’s probably whatever killed one of our Gallican spies.”

“Why would I keep a dog? They’re useless outside of tracking,” Colin called over his shoulder. “And I know all your tricks, already. You taught me everything, remember?”

Halt regarded him for a moment, frowning. “If he talks again, gag him. Dead men make the worst prisoners.”

-

_ Twenty-five years ago, Redmont _

Colin cursed as the healer slathered foul smelling salve over the cut on his arm and began wrapping gauze around his bicep. Realising what he’d just uttered, the boy grinned sheepishly up at his father.

“You’re lucky all you got was a flogging,” Halt told him. “The Baron wanted you thrown in Redmont’s dungeons.”

“But I didn’t kidnap her!” Colin insisted, and yelped when the healer yanked him back into place. “If anything, she kidnapped me!”

“She’s a Baron’s daughter, and you’re a-”

“A Bastard, I know,” Colin muttered, pulling his arm away from the healer’s long, bony grip when the old man finished tying off the gauze. His back was killing him, and his arm throbbed and itched. “Baron Gelbert already mentioned it when he told his guard to flog me...Cynthie told me she can’t be friends with someone like me anyway, so you don’t need to do it too.”

He tucked his knees under his chin and wrapped his arms around his shins. The nauseating feeling that had settled in his belly after Cynthie casted him aside had just gotten worse since he’d been dragged to the healer’s, outweighing any misplaced pride he felt about the attention he’d gotten because of his ridiculous stunt.

“People who treat you like that aren’t worth being friends with,” his dad said, sitting beside him on the cot. “Baron Gelbert and his daughter are idiots if they can’t see past something as trivial as your mother and I never marrying.”

“I guess,” Colin sniffed, turning away from his dad as he swiped at the tears welling in his eyes. “...I don’t think I can walk…”

His dad shifted off of the cot and crouched on the floor, facing away from Colin in an obvious invitation.

Colin winced as he shifted forwards and wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck, but knew that this was a better alternative than walking as he rested his head against his uninjured arm. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispered.

His dad stood with his hands under Colin’s knees on either side and began walking towards the door of the castle infirmary.

“...You’re welcome, Colin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comment! I love hearing feedback!
> 
> Also, Colin and Halt were speaking Irish Gaelic. I'm a bit rusty so it might not be entirely accurate, if anyone has any tips I'd be glad to hear them.
> 
> (Cynthie convinced Colin to take her to an orchard a kilometre north of Redmont and when they got back, Colin was accused of kidnapping Baron Gelbert's daughter and Gelbert ordered Colin be flogged as punishment. Halt didn't know until after the flogging.)


	5. Chapter 5

_ Twenty-four years ago, Araluen _

Colin flipped his saxe over the back of his hand and yelped as the blade sliced his skin. The knife fell into the dirt, followed by heavy drops of red blood as Colin scrambled to stem the flow with the end of his cloak.

“What the devil are you doing?” Crowley asked, causing Colin to jump at the unexpected approach of the Ranger Commandant, and then double over as he accidentally pulled at the skin around his fresh cut. Crowley snatched his wrist and held it above Colin’s hand, letting blood ooze down to soak the cuff on his wrist.

“Practicing?” Colin answered.

Crowley released his wrist and grabbed Colin by the shoulder as he led the boy through the Gathering grounds, nodding to those they past on the way to the pavillion. Colin groaned when he realised where they were heading and tried, in vain, to struggle out of Crowley’s tight grip on his shirt. “Please don’t take me to Dad!” He begged. “He’ll make me walk home if he finds out I was playing with knives again!”

Crowley stopped and stared at Colin. “Playing with knives  _ again _ ?” He nearly shouted.

Colin winced and grinned sheeply. “Finley said-”

“Finley? Arald’s Scout Captain? What the devil is he doing telling you to play with knives?” Crowley snapped. “What if you sliced your wrist open, Colin? You may not put a lot of value on the feelings of others, but just think for a moment what would happen to your father if something happened to you?”

Colin wrenched himself out of Crowley’s grip and scrambled as far away from the Ranger Commandant as he could. “All everyone says is ‘don’t do this’ and ‘Colin you’ll hurt yourself if you do that’ and ‘what would your father say if he saw you?’ All Dad does is work and tell me I’m not good enough!” He shouted.

Crowley frowned. “Colin, he’s just protective,” he reasoned. “If he didn’t think you were good enough, you wouldn’t have-”

Colin stormed off before Crowley could finish; running as fast as he could back to the camp to collect his saxe and then disappeared into the forest until he found a quiet clearing. His hand ached as he wrapped it in a torn piece of his shirt and he bit his lip hard enough for tears to spring into his eyes. He picked up his saxe as he sat against the roots of a massive tree and scowled into his distorted reflection in the flat of the blade. He flipped it over the back of his hand and snatched the handle, and then immediately dropped it into the dirt as he caught the pad of his little finger tip on the razor edge.

Colin shoved his little finger into his mouth and picked up the saxe with his right hand, then flipped the blade over the back of his hand.

It was hours before he slinked back to the Gathering grounds, at the cusp of darkness with only slivers of light through the gaps in the leaves to guide his way back.

His dad spotted him as he entered the pavilion, and rushed over to pull him into a hug.

“Where the devil have you been?” Halt practically shouted. “Gilan and Norris have been looking for hours!”

“What happened to your hands?” Farrell asked before Colin could answer, and Halt looked down and scowled. Colin grinned sheepishly and flexed his roughly bandaged fingers.

“I’ve been practicing,” he admitted, pulling his saxe from the sheath on his belt. He flipped the blade over the back of his hand and caught the handle perfectly as he grinned, proud of his accomplishment. “Finley taught me! He said any good knife fighter knows how to reverse their grip!”

He expected some words of praise, or at least a flicker of a smile to cross his dad’s face. Something, anything.

“Don’t you  _ ever _ run off like that again!” Halt insisted, his grip on Colin’s upper arms almost painful. Colin squirmed. “Go find Gilan and ask him to help you clean your hands and bandage them properly. I’ll be back soon.”

Colin twisted away from his father and left the pavilion, telling himself it was the throbbing of his fingers that was making his eyes water. 

-

Will was groggy when he was shaken awake by Horace. Blearily, he blinked up at his friend, scowling at the sun behind the other man’s head.

Will shot up into a sitting position and scrambled to his feet. Berrigan was sitting on the ground, nursing his head in his hands as Halt stood by the horses, shaking.

“What happened?” Will asked, rubbing his wrist. There was blood on his palm, dried and brown, with a scabbed over cut on his inner wrist.

“He drugged us,” Horace explained, showing Will his own cut. “It’s almost midday, and he-”

Ebony whined and rubbed her head against Will’s leg. He frowned and knelt down beside her and ran his fingers over the ruff of her throat, it was sticky with drying blood with a massive...bite mark wrapped around her neck. “Halt said he had a dog…”

“A wolf,” Berrigan groaned and raised his head. His left eye was swollen shut, and his right bicep was bandaged. “A massive, grey wolf. It jumped me when I was taking a walk while on watch and distracted me enough that he could escape...he must have had a knife to cut the ropes, and he drugged you three with some type of poison...Ebony must have tried to stop him, and the wolf attacked her.”

“Subdued her long enough for him to get his horse, probably,” Will said. The teeth marks weren’t deep, but she reopened them every time she moved her head. “Do you think we could track him?”

“He knows all our tricks, and he…” Berrigan appeared pained, and looked over at Halt. “He took Abelard. He stole a Ranger horse.”

Will shot to his feet, shouting. “How could he do that?” He exploded. “Ranger horses can’t be stolen!”

“Because I taught him how to ride a horse on Abelard,” Halt said quietly. He was still shaking, his eyes dark and angry. “Colin knew his pass phrase, he could be at the sea by now if he didn’t stop.”

“He headed east,” Berrigan murmured. “There’s a village in that direction and he’s smart. With his cloak, and Abelard, he looks like a Ranger, and if he’s anything like the boy we knew, Halt, he won’t leave Abelard somewhere without food or water. He’ll be recognised if he keeps Abelard wherever he’ll run to next, but I’ll be he went east.”

“I’ll go east,” Will volunteered. “Tug and I can catch him, and you three head west to see if there’s any tracks you can follow.”

“And do what, Will?” Horace argued. “He’s strong, he’s fast, and he’s...he’s  _ dead  _ inside. I looked him in the eyes...there’s nothing there. He’ll kill you before you have time to think!”

“I’ll go,” Halt said.

“You’re the one he’d have the most reason to kill, Halt,” Berrigan murmured.

Halt scowled. “And I know him the best...I used to know him the best. I’m his...I’m his  _ father _ , if I can’t get him to surrender…”

Will swallowed. “He could kill you,” he said, desperate.

Halt sighed. “I know.”

-

_ Twenty years ago, somewhere by the sea _

The blood that spewed from the knight’s head was quickly washed away by the rain pouring from the skies. Colin gasped for air as he pulled himself out of the muddy puddle and clawed his way to the body. His saxe stuck out of Sir Donald’s head, buried near to the hilt with the tip poking out between the dead man’s eyes.

“I...I…” the girl standing by the knight’s feet stammered, staring at her hands with wide grey eyes. “He…”

Colin sat up, and immediately turned over to vomit on the ground as intense nausea washed over him. He coughed and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “It’s alright,” he rasped. His throat ached, and he gingerly touched the likely bruising skin. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I killed him,” she whispered. Her eyes were red and puffy, the only visible evidence that she was crying. Her hands shook violently and she hugged them to her chest as she sobbed. “I’m going to hang!”

Now that Colin could see her properly, he realised she was no older than he was, maybe younger. Her hair was bright red, and would have been tied back in a neat bun before the rain forced it loose. She was pretty, and young. Too young.

She could run, he could help her run...but she was just a girl. No matter where she ended up, she’d never survive, village girls didn’t have combat training, weren’t taught foreign languages, political climates, strategy.

_ You could _ , the idea came to the front of his mind so suddenly it stunned him for a moment.  _ Isn’t adventure what you’ve always wanted? _

He crawled over Sir Donald’s body and gripped her arms, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Tell them I did it,” he told her, a hysteric grin forming on his features. A laugh bubbled up in his throat, but it felt like a sob. “My name’s Colin, what’s yours?”

She stared at him. “What do you mean? You’ll be hanged if I tell them you did it!”

“I can take care of myself,” he answered. “I’m pretty good at running away, too.”

“But…”

“You tell them that I got into a fight with Sir Donald, you tell them that he walked away and I put my knife in the back of his head,” he gripped her arms. “You tell them it was me, promise?”

The girl nodded, and then threw her arms around Colin’s neck tightly as she sobbed. “My name’s Rose,” she told him. “Thank you, Colin.”

Colin hugged her back, briefly, and felt that hysterical feeling rise in his chest again. “You’re welcome, Rose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _plot twist ___


	6. Chapter 6

_Twenty years ago, Redmont_

Crowley swung down from Cropper’s saddle and sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He was exhausted, the heavy feeling in his heart weighed him down as he opened his eyes and found Halt, sitting on the steps of the verandah.

Crowley sighed again and moved to sit beside his friend.

“What happened?” Halt asked quietly.

Crowley felt his throat close up, images of Sir Donald lying in the mud, the gaping hole in the back of his head. “We found a body,” he managed.

Halt tensed and put his head in his hands, breathing out harshly. “Who?” He managed.

“Sir Donald Brighton, melee champion under King Oswald...he was found in a seaside village with...with the back of his head split open. A young girl told the royal guard that three days ago a young Ranger came to their village and got in a fight with Sir Donald. When Donald walked away, the Ranger threw his saxe into the back of Donald’s skull…” Crowley explained, his voice barely rising above a whisper. “There was a girl there...she said she saw it all...she knew his name, said he started the fight.”

Crowley watched Halt as the other man stared ahead. Emotions flickered across his normally passive eyes, anger, sorrow, confusion; Halt opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again.

Crowley shuffled closer on the step and put his arm around Halt’s shoulders, and was surprised when Halt briefly leaned into the touch.

“I have to talk to Duncan,” Halt said suddenly, practically leaping to his feet. “I-I have to ask him not to put a price on Colin’s head. I have to-”

Crowley sighed. “It’s too late for that,” he explained. “Once we knew who killed Donald, Duncan put a price on Colin’s head...five thousand silver, ten if they bring him in alive.”

Halt laughed without humour. He was shaking, jittery. He paced across the grass in front of the cabin, like if he stood still the world would come crashing down. “Colin’s a Ranger, do you really think anyone but another Ranger would be able to keep him alive long enough to get him to Araluen?” He was almost shouting.

Crowley jammed the heels of his palms into his eyes again, pressing against the stinging and the ache behind them. It had been days since he left Castle Araluen after Duncan gave his verdict, he thought it would have been easier by now.

Thoughts came unbidden to his mind, green eyes peering out from behind Halt’s leg after that fateful meeting near Gorlan, hoisting the wriggling toddler onto his shoulders to keep him out of mischief as they made camp, the pride he felt when he learned the boy had passed his yearly exams, personally visiting the silversmith to collect the silver Oakleaf before leaving for the Gathering.

“Colin has been named a traitor,” he said, loud enough that Halt would hear him. His voice cracked at the offending label. “Duncan stripped him of his apprenticeship and banished him. If he’s seen in Araluen again...I _tried_ , Halt. I swear, I tried, but it’s protocol.”

“He’s fifteen years old! He’s a child!”

“He wasn’t a damned child when he put his saxe through the back of a decorated knight’s head!” Crowley shouted. “You think this isn’t killing me, too? I love him just as much as you do, and where did that get us?”

Once upon a time, Crowley would have _killed_ for that green-eyed child hiding in his friend’s cloak. He wasn’t sure he could bear to see him hang.

He wasn’t sure he even knew Colin anymore.

-

The Leaky Loon was a small, lively little tavern just north of Hogarth’s most southerly border. The bartender was a slim man named Jo and he ran it with his partner, an older man named Ben, who was Gallican and a good cook. The tavern itself was quiet for the moment, the only other patrons were a travelling merchant and his daughter and a drunk tucked into the corner of the bar, a jug of heavy spirits sat in front of him, and a cup in hand.

Colin swallowed his last mouthful of stew and pushed the bowl away before he was tempted to ask for more. Jo grinned at him from the other side of the bar and swept the bowl behind the bar as he went past. “You act like you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks, mi’lord,” he observed.

Colin picked up his gloves from the bar and slid his hands into the well worn, heavy leather. “I’ve been travelling, doing work for the Baron,” he answered. “First time I’ve been in Hogarth in twenty years.”

“Well, we’re happy to welcome you back,” Jo grinned. “And that beautiful lady you came in with is welcome anytime, Ben’s always loved dogs.”

Colin glanced down at Diana, who was lying on the floor of the tavern like a great fur rug. Yellow eyes swivelled up to meet his and she huffed and closed her eyes again. “She’s good company,” he replied. “How has life been for you, Jo?”

“Life’s good,” the old man responded. “Inherited this place from my father after he died in that first war with Lord Morgarath, I was only a lad at the time but I’ve always had an eye for business. Built the place up and hired Ben after I got the kitchen all fixed up after our last cook nearly burnt the building down, that’s how we met.”

“And he’s been a pain ever since!” Ben called through the window into the kitchen.

Jo grinned, still lovesick after thirty years. Colin’s chest ached as he thought of Renée, the smell of her skin, the curls in her hair, the way she smiled when she knew she’d won the argument. He cleared his throat and tried to rid himself of the dreadful feeling that filled his gut.

“Are you alright, mi’lord?” Jo asked, concerned.

Colin blinked rapidly and cleared his throat once more. “Too many sorrows,” he answered simply. “It’s good that you have each other. Any children?”

Jo laughed. “We’ve tried, but unfortunately the Baron’s got something against us raising any of these parentless kids starving in his fief,” he said, but didn’t hold any malice. “We’re too old now, though. What about you, mi’lord? Have you any little ones?”

Colin’s mind went to his sons, running around after Declan after he’d pulled a prank, helping Oliver carry books from the archives, watching the identical boys laugh and play and grow together, so similar but so different.

And then his mind turned to Rose. His Rose. Anger clouded his memories as he remembered her laugh, reading to her at bedtime about dragons and heroes, the pride and protectiveness he felt whenever she proclaimed him, her father, her favourite storybook hero.

Jo frowned and gazed over his shoulder. “Ranger Isaac! It’s good to see you!” He called.

“That’s not the local Ranger,” Colin murmured, twisting around to face the newcomer. He held up his hands, showing he was unarmed as his father approached and pressed his foot down lightly on Diana’s back to signal standing down. “Came for your horse, I take it?”

Halt stood about a metre and a half away from Colin, hand resting on the saxe at his belt. “Was what you poisoned us with fatal?” Halt asked.

“In large doses, but mostly I use it to sleep or to make others sleep. Take a seat, Jo’s partner makes a stunning lamb stew,” Colin said. “Don’t worry about Diana, she won’t bite. Not unless I tell her otherwise.”

“Why should I trust you won’t put a knife between my ribs?”

Colin shrugged. “If I wanted to kill you, Dad, you would have been first on my list,” he turned away, sitting back on the stool.

A long moment passed, and Halt sat on the stool beside him. Colin didn’t miss the saxe clutched in his father’s hand and ran his fingers through his hair. “Where are the others?” He asked.

Halt was quiet. “They went west. When they don’t find any sign of you, they’re going to head to Castle Hogarth,” he answered. “Where I’m going to take you.”

Colin realised all of a sudden how _tired_ he felt, his very bones grew dense as though they were weighing him down. “I want to plead my case, the King will be very interested in what I have to say,” he murmured. “Twenty years moving from country to country, listening and learning? I’m valuable, at least until I run out of information. And I’m just the blade, the person who forced me into this situation is still very much alive.”

“Forced?” Halt pressed.

“Six months ago, my daughter was stolen from her bed and I followed her kidnappers. When I was far enough away that they could be sure I wasn’t followed, or could be heard, they knocked me out and took my daughter and I to their employer. He gave me a choice, kill whoever he told me to kill, or watch him cut my daughter’s throat open,” Colin explained, his voice flat and low. Everything ached, with the agony of helplessness which barely drowned out the hatred boiling his blood. “Her name is Rosalía, she looks just like my wife but unfortunately everything else she got from me.”

Several moments passed without a word shared between them, and Colin finally reached the end of his worn out patience and turned to face the other man.

His father was watching him, his face unreadable but the emotions were there, just buried beneath the surface. Colin stared back until his vision went out of centre as his left eye began to slide away from forwards and he blinked rapidly to correct it before a headache formed.

“What happened?” Halt asked. “After you killed Sir Donald Brighton? We thought you to Gallica, Toscana, Iberion...for five years I was prepared to go anywhere if we heard even a rumour that you were there.”

Colin clenched his bottom lip between his teeth as he considered something that scared him more than almost anything. The truth. He could tell the truth, but the guild…

He sighed. “After I killed Sir Donald, I knew I’d be hanged and I ran to the nearest dock. Unfortunately, word travelled fast and there was a castle between me and the dock and I was chased by a group of guards-”

-

_Twenty years ago, Araluen_

Colin swung down from Dot’s saddle and went to unlace his cloak, his fingers fumbled with the ties unsuccessfully and he swore under his breath in frustration, then yanked it up over his head. He shoved it into the saddlebag and grabbed Dot’s reins, tugging her towards the dockmaster’s booth.

 _Calm down_ , the spotted horse’s eyes seemed to say.

Colin snorted humorlessly. “I just told a girl to tell everyone I killed a decorated knight,” he managed, the hysterical feeling in his chest hadn’t lessened since he left the village. If anything, it had gotten worse. “You calm down.”

_I’m perfectly calm, they won’t execute me._

“I hate you,” he hissed and stopped at the step up to the window at the booth.

“Nearest village is ten kilometres south,” the dockmaster told him.

“I want to buy passage to Gallica for my horse and I,” Colin said, digging into his coin purse. He held up the gold piece, and saw the greedy look in the dockmaster’s eyes.

“Tomorrow, after these guards from the castle stop searching all the ships,” the dockmaster snatched the coin from his grasp. “Looking for a rogue Ranger, never did trust those folk even if they helped stop Morgarath.”

Colin felt the blood drain from his face and a chill slide down his spine. His eyes flicked to the nearest ship, where a handful of men wearing the customary chainmail and skull cap of castle guards strode down the gangplank. The one at the front spotted Colin first, shouting to his men and they all broke into a run towards him.

In the coming years, Colin would never know what made him run towards the end of the docks instead of climbing onto Dot’s back and riding as hard and fast as he could to the other side of the country, but in that moment he bolted past the dockmaster’s booth past a series of large crates and barrels when a gloved hand reached out from behind one of the crates and yanked him sideways. He was dragged down to the floor and another hand closed around his mouth.

“Don’t move. If you’re quiet they’ll think you climbed onto one of those ships,” the man holding him murmured.

Colin swallowed, listened as the guards’ boots thudded on the wooden planks as they passed their hiding spot.

_“He must have gone onto one of the ships! Search them again!”_

The man released him a moment later, and Colin scrambled off the man’s chest and sat with his back against the opposite crate. The space wasn’t very big, Colin doubted he’d be able to spread his legs all the way out if he tried.

The man was reasonably tall, pale with freckles across his nose and thick auburn hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were startlingly blue, so bright they seemed to glow in the dim shadows cast by the crates and barrels around them.

His clothes were practical, built for travel and combat with a dark cloak over his shoulders and a leather surcoat with boots and wrapped steel gauntlets with gloves. He carried various daggers on his belts, one of which held a strange silver medallion with a tree stamped in the centre, the branches reaching up to the heavens like grasping hands.

“You’re the one they’re looking for?” The man asked quietly, gently, like talking to a child or a spooked animal.

Colin nodded. He opened his mouth to agree but couldn’t find his voice.

The man placed his gloved hand on Colin’s bent knee. The grip was firm, reassuring, grounding. Colin felt his racing heart calm a little and swallowed. “I made a mistake,” he managed.

The man smiled, it was small and kind and reached his eyes as he tightened his grip on Colin’s knee for a moment, and then released it all together as he rose into a crouch to peer over the barrels.

A moment later he crouched down again. “They’re all on the ships, come on. Grab your horse and head towards those rocks to the north. I’ve got some business here, make yourself at home while I’m gone,” he said as he stood and moved to leave their hiding place, but paused before he completely left their cover. “I’m Edward, by the way. How much did you give the Dockmaster before you ran off?”

Colin blinked. “Uh, a gold piece...and I-I’m Colin,” he answered. “Thank you.”

Edward grinned, and the sunlight caught on the gold tooth in the corner of his mouth. “Maybe you can make it up to me.”

Colin found Dot waiting under a tree fifty metres or so north of the docks. She hardly looked up as he approached until he was standing at her side pulling his cloak from her saddlebags.

Her nose bumped against his shoulder with enough force that it sent him staggering backwards. He glared at her and swung his cloak over his shoulders, the familiar fabric surrounded him, and for a brief moment, he didn’t feel like everything was going to change.

 _I thought we were going to Gallica?_ Dot’s eyes seemed to say.

“There are guards at the docks, and the dockmaster knows I’m wanted,” he told her. “But I met someone...he helped me.”

 _But I wanted to go to Gallica_ , Dot said.

Colin glared at his horse. “Why is it every other Ranger has a considerate horse, and I get stuck with you?” He asked.

_You’re just that lucky._

Colin didn’t dignify that with an answer and swung up onto Dot’s back, leading her towards the rocks Edward pointed out to him.

They were tall, grey stones easily five times taller than Colin was at the smallest, and formed in a circle with an open space in between only accessible through a small opening on the far side of the circle.

Colin stepped through into the campsite and led Dot over to where a tall chestnut was tied off and dropped the reins around Dot’s neck before he loosened her girth strap and went to dig out his own camping gear when Edward walked in. He was quiet, but Dot warned him of his presence just before he stepped into the camp.

“Catch,” Edward called and tossed a gleaming gold coin in Colin’s direction.

Colin snatched it out of the air and deposited it back into his coin purse as Edward dropped onto the grass by the fire and stretched.

Edward’s blue eyes watched him as Colin sat a beside him, and Colin felt that suddenly he was staring into the eyes of someone far more intelligent than he was. “Who did you kill?” Edward asked.

Colin blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Edward just looked at him. “Those guards were looking for a murderer, and they were looking for you. Either they were looking for two different people or you killed someone,” he said. “Who did you kill.”

“A-a knight,” Colin admitted. “Sir Donald Brighton.”

Edward hummed and pulled a tuft of grass from the ground and tossed it into the fire. It burnt up instantly and let off some smoke. “You’re lying,” Edward said after a while. “You’re running but not because you killed a knight, also you’re a kid and Sir Donald was a man with more years of combat experience than I’ve been alive. I saved you from being hanged for a crime you didn’t commit, why don’t you return the favour and tell me why you just lied to me.”

Colin stared at him, panic rising in his throat and he scrambled to his feet. Edward’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist in a grip so tight it bruised.

“I’m not going to turn you over to the guard, but you’re running away from more than a false crime and I like the look of you,” the man said quietly. “Help me pack my camp and I’ll take you to the next town over for a decent meal. You can tell me why you’re running then.”

Colin knew that Edward was not a man to be crossed, and nodded vigorously as his throat and mouth dry.

They worked quickly to pack the camp and were on their way in under half an hour, it took another twenty minutes or so to reach the next village. They found the inn and set their horses up in the stables, and once inside Edward paid for two beds and two hot meals, the special of the day was lamb stew.

They took their seats in the corner of the dining area, and Colin shuddered as Edward’s eyes rested on him once more.

“Colin’s not a very unusual name. Have you got a last name?” Edward asked.

“Flynn, or, it would have been,” Colin replied. “Dad didn’t give me his last name, and I don’t know it...it was the name of my favourite storybook hero...and I was finishing my apprenticeship so I needed a last name for the official documents.”

“You like books?”

Colin nodded.

A few moments passed in silence.

“How old are you?” Edward asked suddenly.

Colin looked at him. “Sixteen in winter,” he said. “What about you?”

Edward blinked at him, and Colin didn’t miss the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. “Thirty-three last month,” he answered. “And my last name is Steele before you ask.”

“I wasn’t.”

Edward was smirking now. “For a kid running scared, you’ve got some cheek. I could be a molester luring you into false security,” he pointed out, and Colin smirked back.

It felt...easy, talking to this stranger. “If you’re a molester, you should know I’ve got a sharp knife and I know how to use it,” he shot back.

Their food came a few moments later and they ate as they talked, and after they finished their meal, Edward didn’t speak until their bowls were taken and he sat back, watching Colin carefully.

Colin watched back.

“Why were you running, before you were accused of killing that knight?” He asked finally.

“My father is Halt, the Ranger who led the Cavalry onto Morgarath in the war...this year I was supposed to graduate from my apprenticeship under my dad and become a Ranger, but then I found out that I was being sent to Norgate,” Colin explained, he still felt the anger from the discovery. “When I confronted Dad about it, we fought. Dad and I have never...gotten along, so that night I packed up and left. I planned to go back, I just needed some space you know? And then…”

He looked up and saw Edward was still watching him. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention and squirmed in his seat. “I ended up in that village, and walked in on Sir Donald... _touching_ a young girl. I tried to break it up and he dragged me and the girl outside and we fought, it was raining heavily and the street was mud and water. He...he grabbed me around my neck and shoved me into the water...then that girl picked up my knife and put it through his head,” he continued. “She was younger than I was, and she couldn’t run. She wouldn’t survive in another country, but I figured I could and told her to tell everyone that I killed Sir Donald. I guessed I could join an army or a mercenary company...I’ve always wanted to work with dogs, too.”

They were both quiet for a long time, and Colin didn’t look at Edward and preferred to trace the knots in the wood as he sorted his emotions back into the appropriate places.

Finally, Edward spoke. “Have you ever heard of Oaken?” He asked quietly.

Colin looked at him and shook his head.

“I didn’t think so. Oaken is a guild of mercenaries and spies that operates in various countries across the world, mostly in Gallica, Toscana and Iberion,” Edward explained. “We go where we’re told and work for whoever pays the most, but we do it to establish power across these countries. We’re independent of a crown, and we accept those with nowhere else to turn...people who give up their future for scared girls.”

Colin stared at him, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. “You’re asking me to come with you?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I like you, you’re smarter than anyone has ever bothered to see and whatever talent you have with that knife of yours would be wasted on a Gallican mercenary company,” Edward told him. “I’m not offering you a place in Oaken, I’m offering you an apprenticeship.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty OC heavy. But gives a lot of information about Colin's past.

_ Twenty years ago, Jadehollow Forest _

Edward had disappeared through the massive oak doors some time ago, leaving Colin in the small standing room. It was dark, with no windows and illuminated by the scones hanging from the walls.

It had been nearly a month since he had met the mysterious man at the docks, and he had learned very little about Edward in the trip to Jadehollow Forest, a massive and infamous forest that spread across the border between Araluen and Celtica, and surrounded most of the Mountains of Rain and Night. Inside the forest, through a series of well concealed paths cut from the thick, knotted roots that covered the forest floor, Edward had led him to a town built within the forest and an ancient castle standing proudly over it all. Oakfort, Edward had called it.

While not as impressive as castles like Araluen or Redmont, Oakfort was massive and sturdy, older than most castles on the continent and made of heavy granite and ancient oak beams.

Outside the castle was a town, built from the great forest that surrounded both it and the fort. Jadehollow was infamous in Araluen for its ghostly hounds and laughing demons. Though he suspected this mysterious Oaken had something to do with the legends.

“Who’re you?” A voice demanded.

Colin turned, and standing in the doorway was a small girl.

She looked Iberion, bronze skin and black hair that fell down to her waist in heavy curls. Dark eyes, round and piercing, glared at him from under impossibly thick lashes.

Colin blinked at her.

“I said, who’re you?” She demanded, and he noticed the Iberion accent in her voice. 

“Why should I tell you?” He retorted.

“Because I asked,” was her response, and folded her arms over her chest. She cocked her head to the side and a furrow formed between her eyebrows as she stared at him. “What’s wrong with your cloak?”

Colin gripped the edge of his cloak and spread it out, even in the dim room it shimmered, breaking up his shape to blend into the background. He smirked. “It’s magic, it helps me disappear,” he explained in a matter of fact tone.

“You’re lying,” she accused, stepping further into the room, he realised that she wasn’t as young as he thought, maybe twelve or thirteen. She was just very small. She also had freckles on her nose and cheeks, and a small scar on her chin. “It’s just the pattern, it’s all strange and muddled together. Right?”

He dropped the edge of his cloak and frowned. “Yeah,” he muttered, and she grinned. She had missing front teeth, the pearly tips of new ones just beginning to show.

“Knew it,” she grinned, victorious. “I’m Renée, can you tell me who you are?”

Colin stared at her. “I’m Colin,” he answered carefully.

“Renée,” Edward chided as he entered the room from behind the heavy doors. “I thought you had lessons?”

Colin jumped, not expecting the arrival of the older man.

Renée rolled her eyes. “Lady Mia’s boring, all she does is complain that I don’t dress like a  _ proper lady _ ,” her lip curled up in disgust and Colin felt a grin tug at his lips at the expression. “Colin was showing my his muddled cloak! Look!”

Edward’s eyes fell to his cloak, and then frowned and turned back to Renée. “Your father won’t want you wandering the castle unsupervised. Go find Aaron, he likes to indulge your nonsense.”

Renée frowned for a moment. “Graham calls it creativity,” she said smugly.

“That’s because everyone in this castle treats you like their princess,” Edward informed her, but it was obvious he was incredibly fond of the girl. “Go find Aaron, maybe I’ll convince your father to invite him for dinner if you hurry.”

“And Colin too?”

Colin blinked. “I…”

But Edward cut him off. “Maybe,” he replied, and Renée disappeared out the other door. 

As she left, she looked back and smiled over her shoulder, showing off her missing teeth. Colin smiled back.

Edward turned to him then. “It’s good I didn’t have to introduce you two,” he said. “Renée is another one of the misfits the Guild Master has taken in, she was a little girl though, so she’s more like a daughter to him than a ward...he spoils her, and everyone in the Guild knows she’s the favourite. Be careful.”

Colin nodded.

“The Guild Master wants to see you before I give you a proper tour of the fort and the town,” Edward told him, gesturing to the open doors. “Come on.”

The study was a large, round room. There was a massive fireplace on the far side of the study, the floor covered in beautiful ornate rugs with various furniture surrounding the fireplace. There was a massive desk in front of a massive window directly opposite the doors, piled high with paper and files.

There was a man leaning against the desk, he was dark skinned with wide brown eyes, his nose was flat and broad and his head shaved with a close cropped beard. He was wearing a faded red surcoat with a golden lion on the front and heavy gauntlets with the sleeves of his tunic tucked under the straps.

Colin’s eyes were drawn to the massive sword leaning against the side of the desk, very much within arms reach of the Guild Master.

“Guild Master, this is Colin,” Edward said, hands gripping Colin’s shoulders. “Colin, meet Graham Sherrinwood, Guild Master of Oaken.”

Graham’s scowl deepened as he looked Colin up and down, his expression unreadable. Colin shuddered under the scrutiny and felt dread rise up the back of his throat as the Guild Master’s eyes found his own. He felt small. His fists clenched as the overwhelming feeling to run washed over him, he tensed the muscles of his legs to keep them still and-

“Graham, if you don’t stop he’s going to cry,” Edward said suddenly, his tone amused but chiding. “I thought it was my turn to traumatise the new recruit?”

Graham’s terrifying scowl cracked into a brilliant grin and the massive man laughed, deep and booming as it echoed through the study. He doubled over, slapping his knee as his shoulders shook with laughter.

Colin stared at him, and then looked at Edward, whose blue eyes shimmered with amusement.

Graham straightened and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, still chuckling as he reached out. Colin took his hand and winced at the older man’s firm grip as they shook hands. “Edward’s already vouched for you, son,” Graham explained, grinning. “It’s not often someone impresses my best spy in a matter of hours, and if Edward’s impressed then I’m impressed. You’re not the first boy to run away, so don’t worry about being judged for it, alright? I wanted to meet you before Edward assigned you a suite here in the fort…”

“That’s fine, sir, I don’t need…” Colin began.

“Guild Master,” Edward corrected. “You’re an apprentice, you’ll call your elders by their titles.”

“Which,” Graham said pointedly. “Will be discussed tonight at dinner, where we can discuss your training, and housing if you don’t feel comfortable living here in the castle.”

“Yes, Guild Master,” Colin replied.

Graham stepped away and walked around his desk. The chair he sat in was high backed and ornate, the same symbol that was on the medallion on Edward’s belt carved into the backrest. As he moved, Edward perched on an empty space on Graham’s desk and folded his arms over his chest.

“Murdering, or being accused of murdering a knight is serious,” the Guild Master said. “Fortunately Oaken rarely does business in Araluen, not since the unification of the fiefs. And then there’s the matter of your father.”

“He won’t find me,” Colin assured hurriedly. “I hid my tracks, and it rained the night Sir Donald was killed.”

Graham smiled and gestured for Colin to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “That’s good, but not what I was talking about,” he leaned back in his chair, picking up a file on his desk. “This will tie into a contract I received last week, have you ever heard of the O’Carricks? The Royal family of Clonmel?”

-

Edward found him in the stables, brushing Dot’s mane free of knots and tangles. The spy perched on the railing of the horse stall and sliced into the apple he produced from his pocket. Colin kept hold of Dot’s reins to stop the pony from taking the fruit from the man.

_ You haven’t given me an apple in ages _ , she told him.

“You’re getting fat, do more exercise,” Colin replied sharply.

“That’s a little harsh, we barely know each other kid,” Edward said.

Colin looked at him over Dot’s neck. “I was talking to Dot,” he admitted. “She wants your apple.”

“Horses can’t talk.”

“This one does,” Colin set the brush down and rubbed his hand down Dot’s patchwork face. “Ranger Horses are smarter than normal horses, and Dot’s not the brightest horse out there but she’s smarter than most.”

_ And you’re such a genius,  _ Dot retorted, shaking her mane and snorting.

“I am, actually.”

Edward frowned. “Do all Rangers talk to their horses?” He asked. “Or is it just you?”

“My dad does, not around me though,” Colin admitted with a shrug. “I never saw any other Rangers do it, though.”

Edward nodded, cutting off a piece of apple and offering it to Colin, still on the blade. Colin took the slice and popped it into his mouth.

He groaned, it was so  _ sweet _ .

Edward grinned. “There’s a whole orchard of apple trees at Acorn Lodge, one of the three communities here in Jadehollow,” he explained. “Best apples in the world, far as I’m concerned. Nightwood is where we mine our metal, and where our smiths make tools and weapons. There’s a farming community west of the forest’s edge where most of our food and livestock is grown and raised, and we pay the farmers there to only trade with us as well as offer our protection.”

Colin nodded, he’d been wondering how big the guild was, how far it spread through the forest. “And your main export is…”

“Mercenaries, information,” Edward told him, offering a slice to Dot, who ate it greedily. “We work for the highest bidder, and I have a unique skill set.”

“The Guild Master said you were a spy?” Colin asked. “But at the docks…the dock master...”

Edward watched him, quiet and intense and patient. Encouraging him to think.

“You were there to kill the dockmaster,” Colin breathed.

“Very good,” Edward nodded. “He was corrupt, and one too many disgruntled ship captains left with too light purses got in contact with one of our informants, and our informant told Graham, who offered me the contract. Well, I asked to leave the village for a week or two, and the soft fool gave me the most basic of contracts. Renée could have done it…”

“What?” Colin didn’t know much about Edward, but hesitation looked the same on everyone. Shifting eyes, mouth open, nervous features.

“You should know that we’ve gotten word of a price on your head,” the assassin told him. “Five thousand silver, ten thousand if you’re alive when they bring you in. I wouldn’t worry about it, give it a few years, you’ll look older and people will forget what you looked like anyway. Scars help too.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, Colin took off Dot’s bridle and hung it on the hook on the wall. Dot bumped his shoulder and he rubbed her face again, patting the side of her neck as he stepped out of the stall.

Edward met him at the stable doors, the rest of his apple mysteriously missing. “If my horse gets fat, I’m blaming you,” he warned.

Edward shrugged. “So, what Graham said about your uncle…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Colin snapped, face growing hot. “I don’t know him, or my aunt and cousin and they don’t know me. I want to keep it that way.”

Edward shrugged, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “Did you want the tour before dinner? Or wait until tomorrow?” He asked, and then frowned. “Kid, are you alright?”

Colin hiccuped, angrily scrubbing at his face as tears spilt from his eyes. “I’m fine,” he choked, flinching away when Edward’s fingers touched his arm. “I don’t  _ know _ .”

Edward frowned for a moment, keeping his distance but not leaving him alone. “Why are you upset?” he asked gently.

Colin didn’t know. He felt overwhelmed, tired and agitated, waves of loss and helplessness crashed in his mind as he bit back pathetic sobs. He shoved two fingers into his mouth and clamped them between his teeth, gnawing at them as the pain dulled the emotions in his head.

“Kid!” Edward shouted, grabbing his wrist and pulling his fingers away. There was blood in the saliva and a metallic taste on his tongue. He didn’t get time to think before Edward’s arms were around him, pulling him against his chest. Colin sniffled and let the assassin hold him, burying his face in Edward’s chest and sniffling as sobs racked his body.

After a while, he turned his head slightly and realised that Edward’s chin was resting on his head, the whiskers of his beard pricking at his scalp through his hair.

“I’m never going to see my dad again, am I?” He whispered, thinking of the price on his head.

Edward’s arms tightened slightly. “Probably not, kid,” he said honestly. “But maybe in a few years? Who knows, that girl you asked to lie for you might come clean?”

_ If she does _ , Colin thought.  _ She’ll hang for it _ .

He let Edward hold him for a little longer as the calm of evening took over the town, the sun setting behind the castle.

“What’re you doing?” Renée asked suddenly.

Colin nearly jumped out of Edward’s embrace and glared at the girl. “Where the he...blazes did you come from?” He corrected himself quickly, guessing the Guild Master wouldn’t appreciate him swearing in front of his daughter.

Renée frowned at him. “Graham wanted you to know that he likes his dinners hot and that you need to hurry up,” she said smugly.

Edward’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him towards the castle. “He gets cranky when he has to wait for food,” Edward explained with a grin. “I’ll show you the way this time, but next time it’s a race.”

-

The dining hall was modest in comparison to the rest of the castle. But when compared to his father’s cabin, it was magnificent.

The table itself was long and ancient, it had obviously seen many banquets but was rarely used. There were currently only two places set, and only half the room was illuminated. Five places were set at one end of the table, two of them already filled.

Renée, who had been hanging off Colin’s arm and telling him about the political climate in Gallica “because it’s really interesting” pulled him towards the table as they got closer. Graham was seated at the head of the table, the two seats beside him vacant and a young man was seated on the second place to the left.

He was tall, broad in the shoulders with curly burnished hair and the beginnings of a beard on his jawline. He couldn’t be more than nineteen, hazel eyes found his as he and Renée approached, and Colin found himself unable to look away.

“Hello, Aaron!” Renée exclaimed. “This is Colin.”

Aaron jumped to his feet and Colin blinked. The older boy was nearly as tall as Graham and towered over Colin, just like the Guild Master.

“Graham mentioned Lord Steele had a new apprentice,” Aaron said. “Aaron Creed, I’m Graham’s apprentice...unofficially.”

“He’s training to be my Warden,” Graham said. “It’s similar to a fief’s battlemaster, my current Warden is nearly seventy, the stubborn old fool won’t take the hint and retire.”

Colin nodded, holding Aaron’s gaze for a few moments as Renée and Edward took their seats at the table to the right and left of Graham respectfully.

Colin sat next to Renée and realised very suddenly that he was  _ starving _ . Dinner was roast meat of some kind, Colin didn’t think to ask, with vegetables and bread. They ate in silence, save for Graham and Edward’s near silent discussion and Renée grumbling about the vegetables on her plate. Discreetly, Colin plucked the beans off her plate with his fork and ate them. She smirked when their eyes met, all the while he felt Aaron’s gaze from across the table.

“Colin,” Graham said as they finished eating. “Tell me about your training as a Ranger.”

Colin blinked. “Why do you want to know, Guild Master?” He asked.

“Edward is concerned he’s not going to be able to teach you much outside of the political requirements of becoming one of my agents,” Graham answered. “I’m sure there’s something in his vast repertoire he can teach you?”

“I have all the common skills of a Ranger,” Colin shrugged. “The longbow, hand to hand combat, mapping, unseen movement, tactical training. I was good at it, but I only excelled at my knives.”

“Excell?” Edward pressed.

“I picked up fighting with them quickly,” Colin explained. He thought back to the day his dad had Sir Rodney come down to the cabin to watch them practice knife fighting. Rodney had been especially quiet during the session, and then both he and his dad had left Colin alone for almost the entire day.

After that, his dad barely had him drill with the saxe, claiming there was nothing else he could teach.

He relayed this story to Edward and Graham, who looked at one another and spoke quietly for a while, briefly looking at Colin and then at Aaron.

Aaron shifted in his seat and drummed his fingers on the table nervously.

“Renée, off to bed,” Graham instructed.

Renée pouted and folded her arms across her chest.

Graham scowled at her, folding his arms as well. They weren’t related, but Renée had obviously gotten that withering look from the Guild Master.

“Bed, now,” Graham said, a little more force in his tone.

Finally, Renée sighed, either too tired or just in a complying mood, and hopped down from her chair and left the chamber. As she left, she threw that smile over her shoulder at Colin and he smiled back.

“We won’t know before we see what you can do,” Edward said, turning Colin’s attention back to the conversation. “But we think you’re a natural, likely in the art of close quarters combat or knife fighting. We’ll know more after a few weeks, but I want to warn you now that this training isn’t easy. It makes Battleschool in Araluen look like child’s play.”

Colin swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry at the serious tone of Edward’s voice. In the month he’d known the man, Edward was  _ never _ this serious.

“I’m going to break you, likely more than once. I’m going to turn you into a killer, Colin, cold-blooded and merciless if I do my job right. You understand that?” Edward held his gaze, and Colin felt very cold all of a sudden.

“I understand.”

-

_ Present Day _

Halt frowned as he watched the guardsmen Will had brought drag Colin’s unconscious body out of the tavern.

“You took your time,” he told the younger man.

“It took a while to convince the Baron to let me send his men in to fight an assassin,” Will explained. “Did he tell you why he’s doing this?”

Halt’s frown deepened. “He said he’s being forced,” he answered, not willing to reveal any more at the moment. “We’ll know more once he’s brought to trial.”


End file.
